


One Week

by hellostarlight20



Series: Pushing Boundaries [3]
Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Angst, BDSM, F/M, Happy Ending, Kinky sex, Romance, Sex, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-13
Updated: 2016-12-13
Packaged: 2018-09-08 06:03:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8833225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hellostarlight20/pseuds/hellostarlight20
Summary: One week after Rose walked out on him, Doctor John noble misses her. One week after she walked out on John, Rose second guesses herself.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Daydreaming_Angel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daydreaming_Angel/gifts).



> Special thanks to all the ladies in Fangirlia for this story and much love to [mrsbertucci](http://archiveofourown.org/users/mrsbertucci/pseuds/mrsbertucci) for the beta and for pushing (no pun intended) for more. For [Daydreaming_Angel](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Daydreaming_Angel/pseuds/Daydreaming_Angel) on the occasion of her graduation!

A week ago, John Noble slept in his bed; one night a week he curled around a beautiful blonde who made him laugh and made him want and they slept peacefully in his bed. Before Rose, he hadn’t considered himself the type to sleep with a woman all night.

Even if a lover stayed over, they moved to their respective sides of the bed like normal people. In the morning, they each rose, got ready for work, possibly passed each other in the kitchen for coffee or toast, and went their separate ways.

Rose Tyler was not a normal lover.

So once a week, when she took the train from Leeds to Oxford and they had fantastic sex, she slept curled around him, head on his chest or legs tangled together or his arm heavy against her hip. Keeping her close.

In the morning, she lazily kissed him awake, stretching over his body and tempting his normally solid control. They usually had sex and she showered while he made breakfast—toast and eggs or pancakes or, once, a full English Breakfast. Sometimes he joined her in the shower; always he waited for her to get ready for her afternoon at the gallery and walked with her to the tube so she could catch her train.

That all ended a week ago. Ended when she walked out of his office, the memory of his orgasm nothing more than a hollow emptiness settling in his gut.

John now slept on the couch. He wouldn’t admit it to anyone, not that there was anyone who might ask or care or even realize he ever had slept in his bed. He showered quickly—though he hadn’t yet tossed the shampoo she left. Or removed her toothbrush from beside his.

Damn. Even his couch reminded him of Rose. And it was about as pathetic as he ever felt. Seeing a lover—nothing more—in every space of his flat, on every surface.

The kitchen island where they ate breakfast. The sofa Rose sat on and sipped her tea, watching the news before she caught her train back to Leeds. Hell, the front door he pressed her against and kissed her goodbye.

His mobile rang, startling John from the memories. Donna’s face smiled up from the screen. John ignored it. She didn’t leave a voice mail, but then she hadn’t in the last two days she’d been calling. He half expected her to pop round, demand an explanation. If his sister had been surprised he took her calls in the last few months, she probably shouldn’t be surprised he stopped.

John finished tying his tie and shoved the mobile into his jacket pocket where he ignored the next two calls and the rapid fire dings that sounded like multiple texts. He left for the university, mentally planning his day, and most certainly did not look at the bed—neatly made and untouched for a week.

When he walked into the building, Tom rushed to stand and greet him.

“What?” he snapped and eyed the boy.

“You—you’ve a visitor,” Tom—Tim? Whomever—stammered.

“I assume,” he drawled condescendingly, “you told them my office hours?”

He nodded like his head was attached to a spring. “I—I—yes, I did, but he insisted on waiting.”

One of two people then: Harold Saxon, former friend who wanted to be prime minister (over John’s dead body) or Jack Harkness, current friend who wanted to know entirely too much of John’s sex life.

John turned, ignoring Tom or Tim or Whatever, then stopped. Turning back around he eyed the boy. “No name?”

The kid blushed and shook his head. Jack then. Harry never made anyone blush. Jack, on the other hand, made everyone blush. John ignored Tom’s (Tim’s?) continued stammering and walked down the hall. His office door was open and, before he could stop the thought, it raced through his mind.

Rose, bent over the desk facing the door, legs spread wide as he pounded into her from behind. A screamer, his Rose, she never cared who heard her. In fact, the very thought of being interrupted, of someone walking in on them, aroused her.

He missed her. Not just the sex, fantastic as it was, but her smile. Her laugh. Her scent as it wafted by him, perfectly comfortable around each other as they readied for their day.

He shoved the images aside and stepped into his office. Jack Harkness sat behind his desk, in the chair John hadn’t used in a week, feet casually crossed at the ankles atop his desk exactly where he wanted to take Rose.

“What?” John demanded. He tossed his briefcase onto the chair and shrugged out of his overcoat. Crossing his arms over his chest he glared at Jack and waited.

“Have I told you lately that goatee is damned sexy?” Jack stood up in one graceful motion, all smiles and charm. “Really brings out the blue of your eyes.”

“I hope you didn’t travel all the way from London to flirt with me when you know damn well you haven’t bought me a drink yet.”

Jack’s eyes brightened at the old joke. “I can still arrange that,” he purred.

“What do you want, Captain?”

Still eyeing him inquiringly, Jack rounded the desk and narrowed his eyes. “You only call me ‘captain’ when you’re in a bad mood. What’s got your pants in a twist?”

“Harkness,” he warned.

Jack shrugged. “One day I’ll wear you down with my charm and good looks.”

“Not bloody likely.” Rose’s smile, her tongue peaking from the corner of her mouth, teased him. John scowled. “What. Do. You. Want?”

Once more Jack eyed him. “I was in the area.” He grinned and winked. “Donna wanted me to check on you. See if you were still alive. You’re not returning her calls.”

John’s eyebrow rose and he pressed his lips into a thin line. “Not like her to send someone else to do her dirty work.”

“I’ll do all the dirty work you like, Doc,” Jack shot back.

John growled. “I told you not to call me that.”

“Hey.” Jack held up his hands and frowned. “I’ve seen you in bad moods and even worse moods, John. But I’ve never seen you like this. The last few months, I thought you were coming back—you seemed different. Talked to Donna more, answered my texts and emails. What happened?”

“You’ve seen me, I’m alive and functioning.” John stepped around Jack and leaned against his desk, arms still folded over his chest. He couldn’t bring himself to sit in the chair. “I’ll be in London Thursday for the conference. I assume Torchwood will be represented?”

Jack nodded but John knew it was only in acknowledgement of his Torchwood question. He continued to watch John as if he expected something miraculous to happen.

“If that’s all,” John hinted none too subtly. “I have student hours now.”

Jack didn’t move. “Who is she?”

“What?” John said for the umpteenth time today. He had, of course, heard Jack perfectly. He chose to ignore him.

“Donna and I thought it was a woman,” Jack said with all the seriousness he normally reserved for his cases.

John narrowed his eyes at his friend. “Is that why you’re here?” he demanded, voice cold. “To see if I’m fucking some bird?”

Even Jack winced at the crassness in his tone. John didn’t flinch. He was too dead inside to feel anything.

“No, John, it’s not—”

“Go back to London, Jack, and tell my sister I’m alive and well.” John turned his back and purposely looked out the window.

“Listen, John,” Jack tried and John did give him points for that. “We’re just worried. No word from you in months then all of a sudden you answer Donna’s call like it was nothing. You changed in the last three months, since selling the house. What happened?”

John whirled around and stalked the distance to where Jack stood. To his credit, Jack met him head on. John didn’t care. “I believe I told you to leave, Harkness,” he said in a low, dangerous voice. “I suggest you do so.”

Jack held his gaze for another moment then nodded. “We miss you, John.”

The door closed softly behind his friend and with the sound of the quiet snick, all John’s anger left. Three months. Rose had been in his life a mere three months. How was it one woman changed him so completely? He picked up the pencil holder and hurled it at the door. It shattered, scattering pens, pencils, markers, and scissors across the floor.

It was the second holder he’d broken in a week.

If only his heart was as easy to repair as picking out a new pencil holder from the supply closet.  
****

“You’re avoiding me.”

Rose closed her eyes and tugged her hair out of her ponytail, sighing into the phone. “I’m not, Martha.” The protest was weak and they both knew it.

Martha snorted. “You are and you’re not all right no matter what your text—a week ago!—said.”

Rose sank to the couch and leaned back. “I’m fine,” she insisted. “Just tired. Slade has that new artist coming in who’s absolutely rubbish but he insists is the next big thing. I’m rushing around trying to set up for that.”

“Rose. Stop. I’ve been your friend since we met in Paris, two Englishwomen at university. I know you better than that.”

She had nothing to say so kept quiet. Those stupid tears she hadn’t let herself cry in a week closed her throat and stung her eyes. Rose willed them away, angry with herself for them and for feeling and for—everything.

“I wasn’t supposed to fall in love with him.” The words slipped out before she realized she thought them. Then again, they’d been on her mind a lot the last week. Longer than that.

“I know, hon.”

“It just happened. One minute it was the best sex ever the next—” Rose stopped, physically unable to continue speaking.

The knock at her door startled her. She jerked into an upright position; her first (stupid) thought was that John stood at the door. Which of course he didn’t. Why would he? He didn’t even know where she lived. Had never been to her flat. Had never come to see her in Leeds.

Rose shook her head to rid herself of those (hopeful) unnecessary thoughts.

“Someone’s at the door,” she sighed. “Not like I know anyone in Leeds.”

“I know. Open up!”

Rose blinked at the door then at her mobile. Ending the call, she did as Martha instructed, surprised to find her best friend staring opposite her.

“I brought Indian.” Martha held up the takeaway bag and lowered her mobile. “Thought you could use a friend.”

Rose took the bag from her, dropped it on the entry table, and hugged Martha tight. “Thank you.”

Over Indian and wine, Rose spilled her sad story. She didn’t want to, didn’t want to think about it, relive it, or dwell on it. So, of course, that’s what she’d been doing for the last week. Thinking she saw John everywhere, expecting him at the door whenever the gallery bell rang that a new customer entered the building.

But oh, did it feel good to talk it over with Martha and not worry about the kinkiness of the sex. Martha never judged, truly the bestest friend ever.

“You think it really was just sex then?” Martha curled a leg under her and chewed on a bite of food. “I mean it’s been months. Even fantastically kinky sex cools off after three months.”

Rose shrugged and pushed her food around the container. “I don’t know. I mean what else could it be? I saw him once a week. For all I know, he had other lovers he saw on other days.”

“You really believe that?” Martha demanded.

Already shaking her head, Rose forced herself to eat. “No.” She swallowed and sighed. “No, I don’t.”

“Why didn’t you talk to him?”

Rose snorted and sipped her wine. “And say what? Oh, hey, John, I know our relationship started on a train and some really great kinky sex, but I accidently fell in love with you?” She snorted again and drained her glass. “Not bloody likely.”

“All right, no,” Martha conceded. “Maybe not that. But what about asking if he wanted to do something besides sex?”

Rose stared at her. “That…honestly did not occur to me. Our relationship is based on sex. Was. Really, really great sex.” She stopped and stared at her fork. “But only sex.”

“Just sex? You literally went down to Oxford once a week, spending a fortune on the train, to fuck him then come back home?”

“No,” Rose whispered. “Though I now have an entertainment budget since I’m not traveling down there anymore.”

Martha did not reply, only looked at her with that ‘tell me everything and you will tell me now’ look. Rose sighed and capitulated.

“We talked. And shopped. Sometimes for food, once for a chair.” She shivered at the memory, but didn’t share with Martha. Her friend might know about Rose’s sudden realization of her kinkier side, but the details about what happened between she and John were between she and John only.

“What did you talk about?” Martha asked gently.

“Stuff.” Rose shrugged. “Sometimes it was about his work, his lectures. Or about this Space Agency conference he has coming up in London. About my art, my time in France.”

“Sounds like you had more of a relationship than just sex, fantastic or not.”

She shrugged again. “Maybe, but in the end that was all it was—sex.” Rose deliberately took a mouthful of food and leaned forward. “Enough about that. Tell me all you’ve been doing with the prime minister!”

Proud of herself for getting through a conversation about her failed romance, if it could be called that...which Rose didn’t think it could be, she listened to Martha talk about the new health initiative and helping the country’s poorest people gain access to healthy foods.

“We’re also working with the National Farmers Union and the Ministry of Agriculture to expand organic farmland.”

Rose nodded, far more interested than the subject should’ve warranted. But this was Martha’s life and Martha was her closest friend. Plus it was always nice to learn what actually went into her food.

And not once did Rose look at her mobile. Just in case. Not that he had in the intervening week, but just in case John texted or called or—but of course he hadn’t. And maybe now she’d stop checking for something that was never going to come.

“Come to London this weekend.”

“What?” The request startled her, but already Rose felt herself shaking her head. “No, I can’t.”

“Why not? Rickston Slade is an arse and you know it. You don’t need to work for him. He doesn’t even appreciate you! Tell him you’re sick, flu or something.” Martha shrugged and gave her a sly look. “I’m sure I can have the PM write you an absentee note.”

Rose snorted and giggled into her wine. She had entirely too much and yet not nearly enough. “Maybe I’ll look at the galleries in London.” She stared into her wine and shrugged. “Start over somewhere else.”

“Then you’ll come?”

There was the showing to finish, not to mention working her normal Saturday hours. But Martha’s request tempted her and Rose felt herself nodding. “Yeah. Yeah, I’ll be there.”

“Excellent. I’ll meet you at my flat Thursday after work.”  
****

It felt good to be in London again.

She had breakfast with her mum, who never understood why Rose hadn’t moved back home after France. Now Rose wandered the shops by Martha’s office on her way to meet her friend for lunch. The day was typical autumn: overcast, windy, chilly. But the cold air cleared her head and Rose was glad she took the time off from work, even if it was half a lie.

Well, an entire lie and she hated that. She worked hard for this job, soul-sucking though it may be. Hard on her degree, on every step she took from the time she finished her A-Levels to the time she sat on that train, coming back from her interview in Leeds.

Slade need never know. As far as he knew, she was home with a vicious, and highly contagious, cold. And though it hurt her soul and her sense of morals, to lie, Rose wasn’t sorry she’d done so.

Huddled in her coat against the wind, Rose wandered down the street, killing time while she waited on Martha and tried not to think about John. Which was about as hopeless as her winning the lotto.

Her mobile buzzed and Rose looked at it. Change in plans, Martha’s text read. Meet me at Astrid’s on Alberta St.

Rose frowned. That was on the other side of town. What was Martha doing there? Rose sighed and walked to the nearest Underground station. Some days her job required her in the office, others her job took her all over; maybe Martha ended up there and couldn’t get away for lunch? It didn’t matter, Rose had all day to herself, taking the Tube across town was not a problem.

Twenty or so minutes later, Rose walked down the street, crowded with tourists and business people alike. She easily wove in and out of them, not paying much attention to her surroundings. Finally she spotted Astrid’s and pushed open the door.

Rose blinked against the lighting and the sudden calmness inside, and searched for Martha. She spotted her friend in the far corner booth just as Martha spotted her. Her friend waved and Rose nodded to the pretty blonde hostess as she made her way across the dark wooden floor.

“Rose, so glad you could join us. You know Doctor John Noble, right?”

All the blood rushed to her head, roaring in her ears. She stared at John, taking in his strong features and piercing eyes as if she hadn’t seen him in months, not a little over a week. She couldn’t believe—this was not how she wanted to see him again. She wanted—ooh, Rose didn’t know what she wanted.

Him to show up at her flat and what—sweep her into his arms? That wasn’t John and that wasn’t her and that certainly wasn’t their relationship. But to see him here, like this, sitting there—just sitting there staring at her as if he was as stunned to see her as she was him…

Rose swallowed and wished her brain would calm enough for her to snatch out a thought. But it continued to whirl and race and—John sat there. He sat right there, looking as sexily handsome as ever in his suit and tie and…

Dazed, numb, Rose couldn’t decide if she wanted to run, kill Martha, or quickly sink into the floor and that nonexistent hole that refused to open up and swallow her.

“Rose.” His voice washed over her like a caress. Those stormy grey-blue eyes caught hers and Rose couldn’t look away.

“John.” Rose didn’t know if she spoke his name or not. Did her lips work? She forced her gaze from John, looking sexily stunned in the booth with Martha, to her friend who looked smug, and back again.

“I need to get back to the office.” Martha slid out of the booth, grabbed her purse and coat, and breezed out of the restaurant.

Rose didn’t watch her leave, once more physically unable to pull her gaze from John’s.

“Are you ready to order?” The server’s voice, a little wary, startled Rose.

“Um—” she shook her head.

“Sit.” John’s eyes softened, almost pleaded, and he gestured to the opposite side of the booth. “Please.”

Chewing her lower lip, Rose found herself sliding into the booth. She was seated before her actions caught up with her brain but it was too late to scream at herself to stand up and leave and what was she doing? Her mobile clattered to the table and she grabbed it with stiff fingers that refused to cooperate.

“Just water, please.” Rose closed her eyes for a heartbeat then looked up at the server and grinned. He still eyed her warily. “What do you recommend for lunch?”

“Our hot sandwiches are out of this world.”

She was sure they were, but the thought of eating anything heavy while sitting across from John in what had to be the most awkward meeting ever—no. Rose glanced up at him then immediately looked away. He stared at her with stormy eyes, watched her as steadily as they did on their first meeting all those months ago.

“Soup? Whatever the soup of the day is.” Rose’s grin felt brittle and from the look the server gave her he saw it too.

She didn’t blame him for slowly backing away a step.

“Soup and sandwich.” John’s voice was hard, that sharp tone of a man being obeyed.

But she heard the vulnerability beneath and wondered if that tone was new or she really listened. Oh, Rose had heard it before, those few times he spoke of his family: the parents he lost or the sister he rarely spoke to because of his work and his steadfast refusal to.

The server nodded, scribbled something down, and backed away. He didn’t even ask what sort of sandwich. Rose didn’t blame the poor guy. Probably cursing his luck they sat at his table.

“Well,” Rose started in a far more upbeat voice than she felt. “This is more awkward than our first meeting.”

Oh, dear Lord. She closed her eyes. Why? Why did she have to speak? Seriously.

“I miss you.”

Her eyes shot opened.

John leaned across the table, arms folded beneath his chest, face set, eyes watching her as if nothing else in the restaurant mattered. Mouth dry, throat closed, Rose didn’t know if she wanted to reach out and take his hand or leave.

Her legs steadfastly refused to cooperate and her fingers were too busy twisting around each other for either.

“Why did you leave, Rose?”

She opened her mouth. Nothing came out. Rose snapped it closed and looked down at her hands. They’d never lied to each other. Their entire relationship, from first meeting on that train to a week ago, was based on honesty. Sort of honesty. Mostly honesty. She hadn’t, after all, told him the entire truth when she broke things off.

What had Martha said about just telling him?

“I wanted more.” The words slipped out and seriously—what was with the talking? Why had anyone taught her words?

“More?” John frowned but Rose met his gaze. She refused to think what that frown meant.

“Here you go.” The server set her water in front of her and scurried away.

“More of what?” John demanded.

All or nothing, in for a penny in for a pound and all that rubbish. Her stomach knotted but Rose lifted her head high and leaped. Or fell. Whatever.

“I wanted more of a relationship. More—more of us.” If she’d known she was going to see John today—or ever again—she’d have planned this conversation out more. Or at all.

“Less sex?” John frowned again, his roaming over her face.

“No!” Rose shouted, entirely too loud for the setting. She sighed and pressed her fingers to the tabletop. “I don’t mean that. I love our sex life.” Loved. She meant to use the past tense there. Damn. “I just mean—I wanted,” she said, careful to emphasize the past tense in that at least, “more. More time together outside the bedroom.”

“We rarely confined our activities to inside the bedroom,” he reminded her, that sexy smirk twisting his lips.

She grinned and snorted. “And each and every one was very pleasurable.”

“You want to what—date?”

“I want—wanted,” she corrected and wondered when she started caring about tenses so damn much. Oh the hell with it. Present tense it was. “I want to spend time with you,” Rose admitted. “I want to do—” everything—“things with you like have lunch together.”

She waved around the booth and looked around the restaurant. Their server—what was his name?—watched them from afar with the pretty, short blonde hostess. Rose quickly averted her gaze. No need to make the man feel even more awkward.

“We had lunch when you came to Oxford,” he reminded her.

“I don’t mean that.” She lowered her voice. “I don’t mean once a week when I take the train to visit you to have sex. I mean whenever. Take an hour and spend time together.”

“Rose,” he said reasonably, “you live in Leeds and I live in Oxford and travel often to London. Taking an hour to have lunch isn’t feasible.”

Frustrated, she sighed and growled. “That’s not what I mean. All right it is, but I don’t mean just that. I mean—you.” She jabbed a finger at him and John jerked in surprise. “You could’ve come up to my flat, seen me on a Sunday when the gallery closed.”

He blinked.

“Yeah. Never thought of that, did you.”

“Soup?” The voice made Rose jump and she sat back but didn’t tear her gaze from John. Food before them, the server looked from her to John and back again. “Need anything else?”

Rose silently shook her head, John didn’t bother to answer. The server slipped away.

“I did.”

Her eyes narrowed. “What?”

“I did. I thought about going up to see you. Surprising you or making plans to meet you.” He shrugged and pinched the bridge of his nose.

God, she loved his hands. How his fingers felt around hers, his hand warm and solid and holding hers. Loved how they felt on her, loved the power in them when they spanked her, loved when they moved inside her. Rose shifted on the seat and crossed her legs. An entire week of depression and suddenly, in twenty minutes she was more aroused than a simple lunch warranted, all because of John sitting across from her.

Forcing herself to sip her soup, lobster bisque that wasn’t half bad, Rose let the warmth of it melt the ice in her stomach and loosen her fingers.

“Why didn’t you?” She tilted her head and waited for his answer.

John shrugged, shoulders moving rather sexily in his suit jacket. “Didn’t think you wanted me to. You never mentioned it, didn’t so much as hint at it. Always said you were sleeping or cleaning on Sundays. Laundry, whatever.”

“This isn’t my fault,” she shot back hotly. “You always had something going on. What was I supposed to say?”

John opened his mouth then snapped it closed.

“I caught up on laundry and cooking on Sundays because I used my other day off to take the very expensive train down to see you.” Rose would’ve much preferred to spend her other day with John as well. Plus, she hated cooking and was lousy at it. But eating in was far cheaper than eating out.

“I—I.” He shook his head and sighed, running a hand over his hair.

Swallowing Rose shook her head. “Our relationship was based on sex. From the start, that’s all it was. You never said you wanted any more, either.”

“Thought I had,” John admitted quietly. He grinned charmingly, bright eyes crinkling at the corners. “We went shopping for a new chair.”

“So we could have sex in it,” Rose pointed out. But some of that tension eased in her shoulders and the awkwardness between them dissipated slightly.

He shrugged. “Still spent the afternoon shopping with you. Took you out to lunch and everything.”

“So you did.” Rose ate a couple spoonfuls and realized how hungry she was. She looked to where their server stood but he refused to catch her eye. Just as well. She leaned over and stole a crisp from John’s plate.

He caught her hand, threaded his fingers with hers. It shouldn’t feel so right, him simply holding her hand. It did. So, so right. “Why didn’t you say so?”

“What would you have had me say?” Rose demanded but her voice held no bite. “John, do you want to go out on a date with me?”

He frowned but didn’t release her hand. “This relationship was a little out of order,” he admitted. “But I wouldn’t have changed it.”

Rose melted at the sincerity in his tone and squeezed his fingers. “Me either.”

He finally looked at his sandwich and grimaced. Rose stifled a laugh. He hated tomatoes and there were at least two visible. She looked to where their server avoided them and caught the eye of the blonde hostess instead. Rose waved her over, and the woman all but pushed their server back toward their table.

“Everything all right?” their nervous server asked.

“What’s your name?” Rose pulled John’s sandwich to her side of the booth.

“Alonso, ma’am.”

“Alonso, another sandwich, please, but no tomato.”

He nodded, shrugged, and left. Rose bit into John’s abandoned meal and watched him eat his soup. She wanted to laugh, giddy at the thought of seeing him again. Wait—

“What were you doing here with Martha?”

John sighed and rolled his eyes good-naturedly. “I didn’t realize she was your friend Martha until you stood here.” He shrugged. “She and my mate, Jack, were talking at the symposium and Jack invited us to lunch.”

He glowered and snatched a crisp from the plate. Rose swatted his hand and he caught her fingers again. Her heart flipped at the movement. They had always held hands, from the first, and it always felt right. This? She had no words what this felt like, but she wanted to hold onto it as much as she wanted to hold onto John’s hand.

“Jack ditched us as we walked inside, claimed he had an emergency. Should’ve known something was up. He badgered me all week about seeing me while I was in town.”

Rose’s eyes widened. “Martha came up to Leeds earlier in the week, wanted me to ditch Slade and see her.” She narrowed her gaze at him, though it was more for her absentee friend than John. “She planned this.”

He growled. “She and Jack.”

Alonso returned with John’s sandwich and left just as silently.

“How do they even know each other?” He demanded.

“And how on Earth did they plan this?” Rose shook her head, amazed.

“Never underestimate Jack.” John bit into his sandwich and chewed silently.

“Apparently I shouldn’t underestimate Martha, either.”

They ate in silence, a far more comfortable one than Rose thought they could ever have again. Alonso seemed more at ease as well when he came by to check on them. Even the blonde ventured over.

“Everything all right, John?”

“Astrid.” He nodded to her. “This is—” his eyes met hers, but she didn’t know what to call their relationship, either— “Rose. Rose, Astrid. She owns the restaurant.”

Rose nodded, a little jealous though whether she had any reason to be—or any right—she didn’t know. Still, it twisted through her even as she smiled up at Astrid. “Nice to meet you. I had no idea this place was hidden in plain sight.”

“Oh, it’s always the ones you don’t see that are the best.” Astrid winked at her and left.

“Weird.” John shrugged. “She’s normally more talkative.”

Rose wanted to ask if there was ever anything between them but then she didn’t want to. Again, she wondered if she had that right or if there was anything left between them to justify a question.

John dismissed Astrid and turned back to her. “Do you want to?”

Rose licked her lips. No need to ask him what he meant. She did anyway. “Try?”

He nodded, a single movement of his head, so typical John it shot through her: part endearment, part arousal, part understanding—she knew him well, the little ticks and mannerisms. Rose squeezed her thighs together but, of course, already knew it was no use.

“I do.” She licked her lips. “Yeah. You?”

“Rose, I never would’ve let you go,” he said honestly. “I—I care far too much for you.”

Her stomach swooped and all the breath left her. “Yeah?” John nodded and Rose grinned. “I care a lot for you, too, John. More than.”

“I’m staying in London until Sunday.” He lifted her hand and kissed the palm. “Stay with me?”

She wanted to. Oh, did she. But—mum and Martha aside, was this running back into what they had? Instead of what she wanted them to have?

“The sex is fantastic,” she said slowly. His finger traced random circles in her palm and Rose shivered. “And I miss it.” Oh, did she miss it. “But it’s more than that. I mean—” she sighed and tried again—“I miss you. Just you. Yes, I love the sex, believe me I do. But I want more from you, John.”

“Me, too. One lousy week.” He shook his head. “You’d think I’d survive a week without you. I don’t want to. I want you, not only in my bed but in my life.”

“Yeah?”

“Rose Tyler,” he said in that way only he could, as if every emotion ever weighed in her name. He grinned, that wide, daft grin of his she loved so much. “Yeah.”

“So…we’re giving this a try?” Rose chewed her bottom lip.

John reached across the table and gently ran his thumb over it. Rose’s breath stopped and she automatically flicked out her tongue to taste the pad of his thumb. His eyes darkened and that growl, that darkly sexy growl washed over her. She shivered and he smirked knowingly.

“I’d like to. Very much. I’ve missed you. Your body, yes, but your laugh, too. Your smile.”

Rose graced him with a wide smile, purposely teasing the corner of her mouth with her tongue.

“Minx.”

“You love it.” Damn her and her slips of the tongue!

“I do.” He sobered, no less intense but quieter. “Very much.”

Rose didn’t know if that was a declaration. Sounded like one, but she wasn’t quite ready to voice the words herself so didn’t ask for clarification. Not yet.

“Let’s get out of here. I missed you, too.”  
****

His hotel was the same from the first time they met. She wondered if it was the same room, too, but honestly didn’t remember. It didn’t matter, that wasn’t important. What was important was John’s hand in hers, his lean, hard body walking beside her as they crossed the marble foyer.

This time, as the lift took them up several floors, Rose leaned her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes. That first time, nervous, aroused, and wondering what the hell she was thinking, Rose wouldn’t have dared. Hadn’t even thought about it, too focused on leaping into sex with a stranger.

That and her arousal.

Now, warmth and affection and trust heating her, Rose pretended they were a real couple. All right, and the arousal, too. It simmered and beat through her, as persistent as ever.

“Did you mean it?” The lift doors opened and she looked at John. “About trying. A real relationship.”

“Course I did.”

“No, I know it’s just.” Rose shook her head. “I never expected you to want the same things as me. I didn’t think—well, I didn’t think you felt the same about—” me as I do you “—our relationship.”

He lifted their joined hands and kissed her knuckles. “It’s daft, I admit.” They walked down the hall, a slow pace neither wanted to rush. “Not big on commitments, me.” John shrugged and dug his wallet out, slipping the keycard in the slot.

Rose walked in the room, a similar looking one to what she remembered. “No?” She shook her head and shed her jacket. “No, I’m not either. Told you that first time I wanted to try things outside my comfort zone.”

John barked out a laugh and hung up her coat. He drew her into his arms, the contrast to their previous night in his hotel room so sharp she shivered. Or maybe that was his touch on her back, the heat of his hands through the jumper.

“Is the relationship out of your comfort zone?” He pressed his lips to hers, pulled back only enough to speak again. “Or was it the sex.”

“Both,” she admitted quietly. “Not good at relationships, never wanted to put the effort in them. And the sex, well.” Rose slipped her arms around his waist, pressed her fingers into his back and stepped closer. “Let’s just say it’s worth it.”

“Yes, it is, Rose Tyler.” John backed her up, through the living room area and down the short hall to the bedroom. “Yes, you are.”

She hadn’t expected that, but before Rose had the chance to speak, the back of her knees hit the bed. Their sexual relationship was a lot of things: it was hot and pain-laced pleasure; it was soft and quiet and tender even when he brought her to multiple orgasms. But it was never boring.

John stopped her and lifted her jumper up, tugging it over her arms and tossing it onto the chair by the bed. As soon as his hands ran down her arms, up her ribs, Rose knew this was different. He didn’t order her to bend over for a good spanking or lay on the bed waiting to be tied.

No, John slowly unclothed her, mouth lazily trailing down her body. When he tugged the comforter down and urged her back, Rose obeyed. Her legs wobbled and her sex throbbed. She barely caught her breath.

“You’re beautiful,” he breathed and quickly undressed. “Amazing. Brilliant.”

Finally naked before her, cock hard and tempting, John walked to his open suitcase, barely unpacked, and rummaged inside. He held up a box of condoms.

“Why do you have an entire box of condoms?” Rose demanded, even as her fingers slipped between her legs. She narrowed her eyes. “Just what were you planning during your trip to London?”

John snorted and tossed the opened box on the bedside table. “Jack dropped them off last night. Said he didn’t want me to think just because I was in town on business meant I couldn’t have fun.”

Rose reached for his cock and grabbed the condom. “I thought you said he didn’t know about us?” She rolled it on, taking her time to feel his hardness beneath her fingertips.

“He doesn’t.” Rose caressed his balls and he growled, jerking into her touch. “Didn’t. I don’t know. I’m grateful, though.”

She tugged him down and cradled him between her legs. “You know, I haven’t been with anyone else, yeah?” Rose rocked her hips but didn’t guide him into her. Not yet, no matter how she ached for him. “I mean since we started this I haven’t—I haven’t wanted anyone else.”

John kissed her hard, fingers tangling with hers. “Rose.” He pulled back and shook his head. “Rose. I haven’t either. Haven’t wanted to. Don’t want to—I only want you.”

He took himself in hand, and slowly entered her. Then he clasped her fingers again and shallowly thrust. Rose shuddered and angled her hips up to meet his. She gasped in a breath and rolled her hips. She needed more to come and they both knew it, but this—it felt amazing to feel him moving inside her again.

“I’ve never been one for sleeping around, but I never really committed to anyone, either.” John released one hand and brushed her hair off her cheek. “Never wanted to. You’re more to me, Rose Tyler.”

Rose tightened her thighs around his hips and locked her ankles. She scratched her nails down his back and dug them into his bum, pulling him closer. “You’re more to me, too, John Smith. A lot more. And I don’t quite know why.”

John grinned, that ridiculously daft grin she loved. “Doesn’t matter. I want to give us a try.”

“Me, too, John.”

He kissed her again, harder and more insistent than earlier. Rose slipped a hand between them and teased her clit. John thrust faster, and Rose came, body arching into his. Still shivering, her toes curling in the aftershocks of her climax, Rose held her lover close.

It didn’t take him long to come, and Rose wondered if he was as aroused as she during lunch.

Holding him against her as her breathing evened out, Rose closed her eyes and kissed his jaw, his cheek, his neck.

“Don’t you have to return to the symposium? Won’t they expect you?”

John cursed but didn’t move. “I’m not leaving you.” He lifted his head and met her gaze. “Ever again.”

Warmth rushed through her and she grinned, a slow, happy smile. “Well then, John Noble. Why don’t you show me how much you missed me?”

****  
It didn’t take them long to reestablish their normal routine. Except with changes. Which didn’t make it their normal routing, John supposed. He liked this new normal. Very much so.

He waited at the station for Rose. She’d texted to say her train was delayed and she’d be at least 20 minutes late. That hadn’t stopped him from arriving when her train was supposed to arrive and waiting for her.

One week without her was more than enough not to want a repeat. Cold, rainy, breezy, the typical Oxford Wednesday blew past him in a gust of leaves and rain. He shivered and burrowed deeper into his overcoat. He should’ve waited in the car, but he wanted to see Rose the moment she stepped from the station.

In the month since reconciling, they took more time to be together. Not that they hadn’t before, they spent a lot of time being a couple, now that John looked back on it. But now he made an extra effort.

In the weeks since Jack and Martha’s shenanigans or, well slyly, subtle trickery maybe, he and Rose took things slow. They still spent the night Rose arrived in Oxford together, and the morning and afternoon as well before she headed back to Leeds.

They had sex, of course; they enjoyed each other far too much to abstain. But they also spent more time talking. Which was odd, since John thought they had always talked. Rose knew more about his past than even his sister.

And they made tentative proposals for the future. Not quite plans, but not not plans, either.

He didn’t want to lose Rose and if she wanted lunches and time spent together, that’s what he’d give her. He’d also give her the pain she desired, the eroticism of their sex.

Today, courage sufficiently plucked and his heart settled on the idea, John impatiently waited for her to disembark. He’d known how he felt for her since she left his office and broke things off but, now reconciled and happy again, he wanted to make sure Rose knew as well.

****  
“Bend over, Rose.” John ordered.

“Yes.”

Rose did as he commanded, stomach already clenching with the hunger in his voice, in his sharp blue gaze. She looked over her shoulder and met his eyes. They darkened, that stormy blue-grey look that promised punishment of the most delicious kind.

“Spread your legs like a good girl.” His voice, dark and promising, purred over her like silk.

“Yes.”

She spread her legs and wiggled her hips against the bedding. Her arousal dripped down her thighs, sex clenching in anticipation. She knew this position well, loved it. Arse in the air, legs spread wide to John’s touch, his gaze, cheek pressed against the bed.

Her punishment position.

Rose pressed her lips together against a moan and waited for John’s next instruction. If she made a sound before he allowed, he refused to allow her to come. And Rose desperately wanted to come.

Then he picked it up. Her paddle. Her heart flipped then pounded in her chest. Rose bit her lip. She thought he got rid of it—rid of all their things when she broke things off with him. After all, he couldn’t very well use a paddle that had her name inscribed boldly over it with small, raised roses on the four corners.

“You’ve been a bad girl, my Rose. And your punishment shall be according.”

Mouth dry, pussy dripping, Rose licked her lips. “Yes.”

“I want you to count for me, my Rose.” John stepped closer.

Bare chested, bare footed, he wore only his trousers. Rose didn’t need to look to know his cock was hard beneath the material. She licked her lips again, longing to taste him. Not today or not now at least. John had a different idea for her.

“Otherwise you’re not to make a sound.”

She shuddered but said, “Yes.”

He loved listening to her screams, but for John to forbid her to make any sound, save her counting, told Rose her punishment had only begun. She wiggled her hips against the corner of the mattress, alternately longing for him to begin and wondering what else he had in store.

His hand came down, hard, on her arse. Rose instantly stilled. “Did I say you could move?”

She opened her eyes and met his. “No.”

“Fourteen ought to do it.” He traced the corner of her paddle along the crease of her arse. Rose shuddered again, but he let that movement pass. He knew her all too well, after all. “I was only going to do ten, but you’ve already disobeyed me.”

“Yes.” Her breath stopped somewhere in her chest and she bit her lip against the begging, pleading, sobbing that wanted to escape.

John stilled and held her chin. “You remember the safe word?”

Rose’s heart warmed; they established a safe word—stop—that first day. She’d never used it, and he only asked her one other time when they agreed to continue seeing each other. She nodded. “Yes.”

“Good.” He released her chin, fingers caressing her skin. “I want to hear you, my Rose. But if you come—”

He didn’t finish that sentence. Didn’t need to. In the first weeks of their sexual relationship, Rose hadn’t fully understood the rules. John hadn’t let her come for a week. Torture though it was, in the ladies room of the gallery, in her shower in that small flat in Leeds, in the middle of the night when her hips moved against her hand, desperate for relief, she obeyed.

Each time she was forced to text John and confess. Each time she did not come he promised her an orgasm.

The next week, when they saw each other again, John made good on his promise. For an entire day and night he brought her to orgasm, some hard and sharp, breaking over her and making her fingers tingle. Others gentle and easy, filled with soft kisses and caresses.

Rose had been as wrung out from her multiple orgasms as she had been from not coming for a solid week.

“Yes.” She licked her lips and nodded.

Holding her hips still against the bed, against the teasing corner of the paddle still between her arse cheeks, Rose curled her fingers into the comforter and rested her cheek on the mattress. The paddle left her flesh and she closed her eyes. She heard it swing through the air in the seconds before it connected with her arse.

“One.” Rose gasped and shuddered, clit throbbing in time to her heartbeat.

“Two.”

“Three.”

She counted with each swing of her paddle, longing for the feel of John’s touch on her as much as for the pain of the paddle hitting her. At ten, Rose shuddered, hips jerking against the bed. She forced herself to stop and accept her punishment.

Tears ran down her face. Her arse burned from the pain even as her pussy throbbed for more. Once, months ago, she thought herself damaged for wanting pain mixed with her pleasure. John’s even touch, his understanding, his training disabused her of that notion.

That and all his kinks as well.

“Eleven.”

They complimented each other in ways Rose hadn’t been aware existed before their fateful meeting.

“Rose?” he stopped. Waited.

“Green,” she gasped.

His cool fingers rubbed her heated arse and Rose moaned. The rough scratch of his trousers glided over her sensitive flesh and his fingers dipped into her pussy.

“Always so wet for me.” John kissed her spine, fingers moving lazily in and out of her. “I’ll give you everything you want, my Rose.”

“Yes.” The word strangled in her throat, a mix of dizzying pleasure and hot pain, of fierce love for this man and a willingness to give him all he desired in return.

“Ready?”

“Yes.”

He swung her paddle again. “Twelve.”

Back bowed, head thrown back, Rose counted the remaining two. “Thirteen. Fourteen.”

“Rose?”

“Green,” she sobbed.

“My good Rose.” His hands kneaded her arse again, making her hiss even as she pushed into his touch.

Rose heard the sound of his trousers dropping to the floor and then felt John behind her. “Yes!”

He entered her hard and Rose keened. John stopped, hands hard on her hips, stilling her. “Not until I say, my Rose.”

“Yes!” She shouted, uncaring who heard. Wanted everyone to hear despite his order to remain silent.

He moved, thrusting easily in and out of her slick heat. Her arse burned, her sex clenched, her entire body a tightly wound ball of heat waiting to explode. John’s breathing changed, his thrusts uneven.

Please, she begged, thought she did, but hoped she remained silent.

“Come for me, my Rose.”

Rose sucked in a deep breath and climaxed. It roared through her, hot and fast and blinding. Her fingers locked on the bedding and her knees weakened. And still John pounded into her, his hands bruising her hips—good—her name a litany on his lips.

“Again, my Rose.”

Rose moved against the mattress, as she knew what he meant. Her clit throbbed desperately even as another orgasm rushed through her. Behind her, John stiffened as his own climax overtook him.

Weakly, Rose turned her head and looked at him. She loved watching him come. John shuddered, shoulders slumping. She licked her lips and, despite her pain and exhaustion, wanted him again. Clearly their time apart was too long.

“Stay still, my Rose.”

Her head dropped to the bed and her eyes closed. The cool cloth felt heavenly against her inner thighs as he cleaned her, along her burning thighs and arse. John kissed each cheek almost reverently.

“How do you feel?” His fingers brushed delicately over her and Rose sucked in a breath.

“I’m good.” She paused then nodded. “Yes,” she sighed. “I’m good.”

“Get into bed, love. Let me take care of you.” He brushed her hair off her sweaty neck and kissed the nape. “I’ll take care of you always.”

“John,” she sighed.

“Move in with me, my Rose.”

Rose blinked. “What?” She must have heard him wrong. “I think my orgasms drained my brain. What?”

John lifted her up and carried her to the bed, gently climbing in and settling her against him. Rose sighed and shifted more comfortably against his warm body. He hadn’t answered her, or repeated himself, and she didn’t know how to take that. Finally, he spoke.

“Move in with me.” His hand brushed down her arm and his other hand tilted her chin. Rose blinked up at him, still tingling from her punishment and orgasms.

“What about my job?”

“There are galleries in Oxford.” He squeezed her arm before she could argue. “I know it’s not that easy. But I—I don’t want to live without you. If our time apart taught me anything, it was that. I love you, Rose Tyler.”

Rose forgot how to breathe. He never said it, not that she had either. To hear those words now, as they lay in bed together, twisted her insides into knots and loosened a band around her heart.

“I love you, too, John.” She leaned up and kissed him, though her body protested slightly. Rose eased back, fingers splayed over his heart.

He grinned, then, that large daft smile that made her fall in love with him in the first place. “I’ll take care of you, Rose.” He lifted her fingers and kissed her palm. “In and out of our bed.”

Rose kissed him, deepening the kiss and pouring every ounce of love, affection, and lust into it. She pulled back, jerked her hips against his when her arse brushed the mattress, and grinned. “Who knew meeting a kinky stranger on a train would lead to this?”

John gathered her close and kissed the top of her head. Beneath her ear his heart beat steadily. “Never thought I’d meet anyone like you.” He snorted. “You made me live again.”

She pressed her lips to his bare chest and held him tighter. “I love you, John Noble.”

“Forever.”


End file.
